Hurt and Healing
by Tobichanlissesul
Summary: The Winter Soldier has been captured, isolated, and imprisoned in a small dark cell. The assassin's only visitor is the man who claims to be his best friend. Steve Rodgers, unlike anyone else, wants to give him a seconds chance, a chance to remember, a chance to heal. But that healing can't take place in a prison so much like the place where he was abused, tormented, and broken.
1. Chapter 1

"What's your name?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon I just told you, what's your name?"

"I don't know."

The blond haired man sighed, his head tipping down as disappointment flickered behind his prematurely old eyes. For some reason, seeing that look in the other man's eyes caused a pang of heartache in the assassin's chest. Of course, that feeling had to be stuffed immediately. This man was a target, or at least he had been. He was no ally.

"James." His former target said quietly. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes...Bucky...My best friend."

"Don't say that." He said through gritted teeth. His poor abused mind was still to raw to handle information like that, and the inability to cope with it made him feel helpless and angry. Steve fell silent for a few moments before his lips parted once again to speak.

"Do you remember who I am?" He asked, more out of formality than any real hope, but the long haired assassin answered instantly.

"Steve Rodgers. _Captain America_." he said, the last words coming out with a mixture of contempt and begrudging respect. The other man's head snapped up, his eyes alight with a flicker of hope. It was Bucky's conditioned instinct to crush that out. "You were assigned to me." He said coldly. "I'm going to kill you." Just as he expected, the hope in his eyes died, but it left in it's wake a hollow pit in the assassin's stomach. It was a long time before Steve spoke again, and when he did the words came out as a hoarse whisper.

"I don't want Fury to keep you here." He said, the sincerity of his words all too clear. Since his capture, the Winter Soldier had been kept, orderless, brainwashed, and confused, in a jail cell under Fury's new headquarters. The single room cell, with nothing but it's sink, toilet, and narrow cot, was hardly a conducive atmosphere for unburying old memories.

"I've been speaking with Directer Fury about moving you into my custody, but Bucky, you gotta help me prove to him that this is the right thing to do. He won't let me get you out of here if you're threatening to kill me all the time." Steve pleaded earnestly, stepping closer to the bars. He hated those bars, hated that he wasn't allowed through them. He hated them for separating him from his best friend, his best friend who was now lost, hurt, and confused, his best friend who needed his help.

"Just..." He started hesitantly, "Just say your name...please..."

The Winter Soldier looked at him evenly, torn between his instincts and the buried feelings that were starting to arise. Finally, he compromised between the two. "Barnes." He murmured simply. Steve had wanted him to say his full name, possibly even the nick name he had apparently bestowed on him, but the assassin was not yet willing to give that much ground.

Steve nodded sadly, a small smile touching his lips. "Okay...I'm going to keep pushing for you Buck...I'm going to help you get better."

The assassin turned and walked away from the bar. He left Steve standing there, his expression gentle with compassion, and drawn with grief.


	2. Chapter 2

Every day Steve went through the tedious process of working through Fury's security and restrictions to see Bucky, and every day he walked out with as little progress as he'd walked in with. The Winter Soldier refused to budge, but Fury was willing to compromise. After months Steve had finally convinced Fury that Bucky's memory would never return if he was kept in a prison so similar to the place where he had been brainwashed, abused, and broken. He needed to be somewhere where he could heal. It was agreed that the winter soldier would be released into Captain America's capable hands, but safety measures had to be taken.

The Winter Soldier felt naked. He felt completely helpless and exposed. He had been stripped of everything, left only with a plain white t-shirt and a pair of soft gray sweat-pants, no weapons, no tools, not even a pair of shoes. His automail arm, his greatest weapon, his most effective defense, had been taken from him. He sat in the back of a truck, surrounded by Fury's men, unaware of his destination or for what purpose he was being taken there. Was he to be killed? The notion didn't frighten him, but it caused a dull ache of disappointment in his chest. He thought it would have been different.

The truck lurched to a stop after a long haul up-hill. His guards began to shift restlessly, as though not sure if he was going to spring to action the second the door to the truck opened. The assassin had considered it, but he was weaponless, and knew he would be gunned down the second he stepped out of line; Fury had made that fact abundantly clear. The door rattled open, the bright sunlight streaming in, momentarily blinding the Winter Soldier, who was now so accustom to darkness. As his vision cleared and he was pulled from the truck, the ragged man took in his surroundings. This did not look like an execution ground. It was a house; a small, comfortable looking house set high on a mountain. Pine trees surrounded the settlement on all sides, broken only by the rough path taken by the trucks. Steve Rodgers stood in the doorway. Why hadn't he guessed? The taller man was dressed in similarly comfortable clothing, only the Winter Soldier could see the gun strapped to his hip all too clearly. What was the point of all this?

Steve smiled, his expression gentle and welcoming. "Hi Bucky." He said quietly, approaching him, his hands held open, in a non-threatening gesture. The dark-haired man stepped back, the gravel of the driveway crunching under his bare, calloused feet.

"Stay away from me." He growled, his voice threatening, but laced with fear. This whole situation, the house, the mountains, the trees, it was all so wrong! He should be locked up! He deserved to be beaten and chained. What kind of a sick mind game was this? "I'll kill you." He whispered dangerously, his hand stretched out in front of him.

Steve's expression faltered with pity, his stomach sinking at the look of animalistic fear on his old friend's face. It killed Steve to see Bucky like this. He wanted him back; he wanted him safe, happy, and healed. He wanted his friend back.

One of Fury's men approached Steve, looking apprehensively at their prisoner. "Captain…" He ventured reluctantly. "Are you sure about this?"

Steve turned, meeting the soldier's gaze evenly and giving him a reassuring smile. "Yes, I'm sure. Please tell Director Fury that everything is under control."

The soldier nodded slowly, lifting his radio to his lips. "All set," He said, voice crackling through the receiver. "Move out."

Steve granted the soldier another small smile and mouthed a quick 'thank you' before the soldier stepped away, walking back to the truck. The other men followed, every single one of them loading into the truck, leaving just Steve and the Winter Soldier alone on the mountain top.

The assassin's eye's darkened with suspicion. "Why are they leaving?" He asked an edge of panic in his voice. His body was a ball of tension, his mind whirling with confusion. This whole situation made no sense. What made even less sense was the man standing in front of him. He was open, friendly, and barely armed, when he should be aiming to gun him down at the slightest suspicious move. The dark-haired man shuffled back a step as Steve approached him, still patient, still non-threatening.

"Bucky?"

"Don't call me that." He warned softly, but Steve continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"Do you want to come inside?" He asked, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" He snarled, clenching his fist tightly. He felt lopsided, unbalanced. Without his automail arm the assassin felt completely vulnerable.

"Let's go into the house and talk there okay?" Steve suggested, turning to walk towards the small, comfortable house. Bucky hesitated. It would be all too easy to just take off into the forest and escape but something buried deep inside of him was craving answers, and so he followed Steve into the house.


	3. Chapter 3

The interior of the house was much like the outside; simple, clean, and comfortable. The door opened into a small front room containing only a doormat, a small bench, and a row of polished wood coat hangers. Steve had already passed through this room by the time Bucky had entered and into the kitchen. The assassin followed suspiciously, strands of his unwashed dark hair hanging in his eyes as he peered slowly into the kitchen. It was bright, and warmly lit, with a black tiled floor and a honey colored table resting in the center of the room. Tall polished counters ran all the way around the edges of the room, inset with and oven, dishwasher, sink, and refrigerator. Nothing about this looked like a prison. Steve had already seated himself at the table, absently turning a salt-shaker in his hands. But Bucky could see his eyes; he was watching him, watching his every move with a look of guarded pity.

The chair across the table was pulled out and Bucky slowly slid down into it, still perched on the edge, still poised for flight. Steve smiled faintly. Steve had expected Bucky to be like this, in fact, he had expected him to be much worse. What Steve hadn't expected was for Bucky to be the first to speak.

The assassin's words were guarded, and hesitant, like he didn't know if speaking would warrant punishment. "This is…You're home…" He ventured, not sure himself weather it was a statement or a question

"For now, it kind of is." Steve agreed, nodding his head as he glanced around the kitchen. Then he caught Bucky's gaze, seeing the look of non-comprehension on his face. His tongue flicked uncertainly between his lips as he carefully chose his next words. "I wanted Fury to release you into my custody, but he said it was too dangerous for everyone…I live in New York, Bucky, if you…" He buffered a moment before continuing, "If something were to happen…Fury was concerned that people would get hurt…" He wanted so much for Bucky to know that he didn't believe it; he wanted so much for him to understand that it was Fury's mistrust that had kept him in that cell for so long, not his! But that was more than he could put into words at the moment, so he continued quietly, feeling as though he'd fail his friend by not finding the right words. "This is a safe house…Sort of like where they move people who are in witness protection program…We're out in the middle of nowhere here, it's quite, it's safe, it's-"

"Where Fury's men can maintain a perimeter around the area so if I escape they can kill me." The dark haired assassin accused coldly, his icy gaze boring into Steve from across the table. The minute he said it he knew it was true. Steve flinched slightly as the mental image of his best friend running, defenseless, brainwashed, and terrified through the woods until Fury's men gunned him down. He closed his eyes for a moment before remembering that constant vigilance was necessary and opened them again to slowly meet the Winter Soldier's gaze.

"I tried to talk him out of it." He said quietly, "But Fury insisted that if you were going to be allowed to be here….with me…that there were certain things I _had _to do."

Bucky's lips tightened, his gaze hardening, but he made no response. His mind was occupied with what those 'certain things' would be. He would certainly be chained up somewhere, that was a given. The possibility of being killed if he stepped out of line was also very probable. But it didn't matter. He didn't care. Nothing could be worse then what he'd already been through.

The silence had stretch between them for several long minutes when Bucky spoke again, this time a quiet demand. "I want my arm back." He said, meeting the blond haired man's gaze. Steve's fingers turned the salt shaker absently, his expression growing weary.

"I'm sorry Buck…" He said softly. "I can't I'm not allowed."

"Than what _exactly _are you going to do with me here?" He spat, rising to his feet, his one hand clenching tightly at his side.

Steve rose from his chair, making a passive gesture with his hands, despite the wary look in his eyes. "It's okay…" He said in a guarded tone. "It's alright Bucky…I won't hurt you…I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you…" He stepped slowly around the table, until he was facing Bucky. It was dangerous, he knew, putting himself that close to the man who had been sent to kill him, but Steve trusted that there was still something in Bucky that wouldn't hurt him. "You're going to live here with me," He said gently, meeting his gaze. "I'm going to feed you, make sure you're rested…I'm going to help you remember…I'm going to help you heal."

For a brief, shining moment, Steve was certain that some kind of breakthrough had happened, that something he had said had struck home. But as suddenly as he had seen it, it was gone. The assassin's eyes went cold, and he took a threatening step forward, standing chest to chest with Steve. "_I don't need your help._" He hissed, his old training screaming for him to kill Steve where he stood. But there was something even older that redirected that rage, and Bucky shoved past him, suddenly bolting towards the door.

Steve felt a stab of panic in his gut and he wheeled around, hurtling towards the doorway after his charge. "Bucky!" He shouted, spiriting after him, clearing the door just as Bucky reached the edge of the clearing. He was going to die. A couple hundred feet into the woods, Fury's perimeter was set up and ready to kill the Winter Soldier on sight if he found his way that far, unaccompanied, into the woods.

"Bucky!" Steve yelled again, as he ran, his voice cracking with a sudden desperation. "Bucky please! They'll kill you! Please, just come back!" He pleaded, seeing the man falter to a stop about twenty feet into the woods. "They won't wait." Steve pressed. "They won't ask questions, they'll just kill you…please Bucky…"

The Winter Soldier stood among the trees, his body trembling with adrenalin and emotion. He set his jaw, feeling like he was going to explode. The was so much that he couldn't wrap his mind around, there was so much he couldn't understand and that helplessness made him feel an anger that he could barely suppress. Slowly he turned, walking back to the edge of the clearing and looked to Steve, who stood there, chest heaving, eyes desperate. Seeing him somehow soothed some of that anger, it made the confusion worse, but it stroked down the flare of panic-driven rage he felt almost constantly.

"Stop calling me Bucky…" He said softly, his eyes dropping to the ground. Like music, Steve gave a soft, relieved bark of laughter.

"Good luck with that," He grinned, knowing that he couldn't treat this situation lightly, but he couldn't help but try to joke just a little bit. It was the irrational hope that it would be little old times. He knew it couldn't be true, but he had to try. As he had feared, there was no response from the man he had known, just a tightening of his lips. He lowered his eyes in a brief moment of disappointment before looking back to him. "Come on then…it's almost dinner time…" He said, stuffing the urge to touch his shoulder.

As the two walked back to the house a command was relayed from one radio to another around the entire mountaintop that the situation was neutralized, and to lower their arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Softly cooked pasta, cover thickly in a creamy white sauce steamed on Bucky's plate. The smell was tantalizing, but suspicious. Why would he be given food like this? It was certainly nothing like what he was used to. He reached down, calloused fingers wrapping around the smooth end of his fork as he tentatively speared a few of the noodles.

"It's alfredo sauce." Steve said with a small smile, from where he sat across the table, his own plate in front of him. "I thought you might like that, I mean, you always said…" He hesitated slightly, not sure whether or not suggesting old memories would arouse the assassin's anger again. He could see the coldness in his old friend's stare and he let the sentence drop. Steve didn't like having to walk on eggshells with Bucky. He wanted to laugh with him, joke around like they'd always done. He wanted to talk to him about everything and not have to be afraid of how he would react, whether or not the wrong word would send him back to that dark and angry place. The man sighed quietly, passing a hand over his forehead. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Do you want some carrots?" He asked, extending the bowl of cooked, honey-glazed carrots out to him. Bucky laid his fork down, reaching out to take the bowl from Steve's hand. He didn't understand this, but the food was the best he'd had in his memory, and he wasn't going to say no to it.

The two ate in almost completely uninterrupted silence, the only punctuation in the stillness being an occasional comment from Steve. These comments hung in the empty air, unanswered, apparently un-heard. It was maddening.

Once Steve was certain Bucky had eaten _something_ he rose from the table, beginning to store the leftovers away. He was about to turn back when he heard the delicate clink of dishes. Steve looked over curiously, seeing Bucky standing at the sink, the dishes balanced in the palm of his one good hand. He laid them down in the basin, turning on the water and beginning to scrub them clean. There was still a definite air of coldness surrounding him, but Steve still felt as though the gesture of helpfulness was progress. He stepped over to him, hesitant, and unsure.

"Thanks Buck," He murmured, his words barely audible, as he didn't really know how he would react to the thanks. The reaction was surprisingly positive. Bucky said nothing, but held one of the dripping dishes out to him.

"Are you going to dry or not?" He asked, and Steve cracked a small smile, taking the dish from his hand. He reached over to where a dishtowel lay on the counter and snagged it, using the soft fabric to rub the dish dry.

Once the dishes were cleaned, dried, and put away, Steve turned to face Bucky, who had stepped back away from him again. His eyes were once again guarded, but no longer angry. He looked weary.

"Hey Bucky?" He asked.

"What?"

"Are you tired?"

"No."

Steve gave a pitying little laugh, glancing down again before looking back up to take in his appearance. He had been drinking in every aspect of him since he had returned, studying the curves and angles of his face, seeing how angry the set of his mouth had become, seeing how his eyes reflected his abuse like shattered glass. Now all he could see etched on the former assassin's face was weariness. He looked exhausted, and Steve hoped that after finally being treated with kindness, even just for an evening, Bucky would let himself rest.

Steve shook his head in disagreement. "You're dead on your feet Buck, you need to rest." He said simply, turning to leave the kitchen. "Come on," He called behind him, getting an uncomfortable sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Bucky reluctantly followed him, his battered body crying out for sleep.

The room that Steve led him into was open and cozy looking. There was a double bed set against the middle of the back wall. It was covered in a thick, soft blanket with two pillows placed at the head of the bed. Beside the bed sat a nightstand, in the corner, a wardrobe and a desk. The Winter Soldier frowned, uncomprehending.

"This can't be mine." He said simply, but was unable to resist the urge to wander in none the less. His rough, calloused hands snagged on the material of the soft comforter, as he gingerly touched it.

"Don't worry, it is." Steve said, smiling sadly, but Bucky got a sudden stab of adrenaline at the sight of Steve's expression. Something was wrong.

"What?" He demanded suddenly, his fist clenching beside him, feeling the panicked anger stirring in his gut again. Steve flinched slightly, his expression pained.

"Bucky I'm sorry," He started, stepping forward. "I'm _so_ sorry, I would never choose to do this to you…."

Bucky's heart pounded in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. Every word Steve spoke panicked him more and he stepped back, head pulled back, eyes wide, looking like a trapped animal.

Steve felt absolutely sick as he pulled the handcuffs from his back pocket. He didn't want to have to do this to his friend. Bucky wouldn't hurt him! He didn't want to have to chain him up while he slept! But it was one of the requirements Fury had pushed on him; one of the bottom-line rules that he_ had_ to abide by in order to get Fury to agree to this.

"Please, Bucky, It's just at night, and I'm sorry! I'm so sor-"

"No!" Bucky roared, trying to keep Steve at arm's length. His bare feet slid on the wooden floor and the assassin's mind tried to rely on a limb that he no longer had to keep him standing. The dark haired man crashed to the floor. He scrambled back, his balance thrown off, his mind disoriented. In his confusion he felt Steve's hand curl around his wrist, his other hand gripping tightly at his shoulder just above where his arm had been severed.

"Bucky _stop_!" Steve ordered, authority ringing in every note of his voice. The assassin's struggles ceased and he met Steve's gaze with a look of pure hated a betrayal. The commanding look faded from the captain's face to be replaced with a look that could only be described as agony. "You've got to understand Buck…" He said softly, his heartache evident in his voice, "The restrictions, and the perimeter…the handcuffs…It was the only way I could get you out of that cell, get you here with me…I promise I'll take off the cuffs first thing in the morning, but please…" He begged softly.

The Winter Soldier set his jaw, wrenching his wrist free from Steve's grip. He pushed himself up, his black gaze boring viciously into the other man, but he extended his wrist none-the-less.

The victory was hollow. Steve felt absolutely wrenched as he handcuffed his best friend to the bed post. He made certain that the cuffs would stay on, but left them as loose as he could. He could at least afford to make sure that he wouldn't bruise his friend's skin.

"I sorry Bucky…" He whispered miserably, and the dark haired man looked away, his gaze fixed at some point outside the bedroom window. "I'll be back," He assured him, "First thing…I promise…"


	5. Chapter 5

Warm white light spilled though the curtains and onto the soft blanket covering the Winter Soldier's body. It was late, so much later than he usually slept. But once the nightmare's had finally ceased, the softness of the mattress and the warmth of his covers had lulled him into a deep sleep. He was almost peaceful. Then the doorknob clicked ever so slightly as Steve touched it from the outside and Bucky found himself yanked abruptly into consciousness. His heart raced in his chest, adrenalin pumping through his veins. For a moment he felt a stab of irrational panic. He _knew_ one of his arms had been taken from him, locked in some safe box somewhere under furies headquarters, but he couldn't feel the other. As the door eased open, Bucky allowed himself a moment to glance back, feeling his heart-rate lowering again. His right wrist was still cuffed to the bed; it had gone numb up to his shoulder during the course of the night.

"Morning Bucky," Steve said softly, the guilt of the night before still etched on his face. "You sleep okay?"

Bucky gave him a dirty look.

Steve closed his eyes with a sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry buck, I reall-"

"Shut up." Bucky said quietly, and Steve looked up, surprised.

"What?"

"I said shut up. You've been apologizing since last night." Steve hesitated slightly, not sure how to respond to that and Bucky scoffed bitterly. "I understand having orders Rodgers." He said flatly. Steve nodded reluctantly as he walked over to him, key in hand.

"Let's get those off of you then." He said, slipping the key into the lock and hearing a delicate little click as the cuff slid off. Bucky rotated his shoulder experimentally. "Feel okay?" Steve asked.

"It's fine." Bucky responded simply. Truthfully, his entire arm prickled, and he wanted to shake it or whap it against a door or something. But Steve didn't have to know that.

"Here," Steve said, kneeling by the dresser and sidling open one of the draws. He removed a set of clothing similar to the one's he had been given yesterday and handed it up to him before standing o his feet. "There's a bathroom just down the hall and to the left. Why don't you get cleaned up and meet me in the kitchen for breakfast?"

Bucky received the clothing hesitantly, resisting the urge to shiver as he tried to move his numb and tingly limb. It was strange, being left to do something by himself. He hadn't been unguarded in months, and now he was being told to just go and do something…alone…it felt strange to be trusted.

Bucky exited his bedroom/nightly prison with the clothing in hand, still confused, but accepting his small measure of freedom none the less. It was good to get out of the clothing he had been in for the past day and an half, good to use the restroom, and to shower. His skin hadn't felt this clean in a long time. Bucky stepped out from under the warm stream of water, turned the flow off, and wrapped a towel around his hips. He reached up, mussing his hand through his dripping wet hair, the long dark strands clinging to his fingers.

There was a mirror. It was steamy from the hot air, and Bucky felt a sudden flash of curiosity. Aside from a few brief glimpses in dark windows and puddles of rain water, he had no real idea of what he looked like. Surely it couldn't hurt to look. The man stepped forward, hesitant, yet eager. He reached forward, using his hand to swipe away the moisture that clung to the reflective surface. Bucky could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest. The man staring back at him from the mirror looked weary, and broken. His damp black hair clung to his face, his eyes staring back at himself; shattered, and hopeless. The sight felt like a punch to the gut and Bucky stepped back, closing his eyes abruptly as his mind was suddenly flooded with snippets and fragments of memories he hadn't known were his. A cold apartment in Brooklyn. A military uniform. A thin, bony man with a heart the size of the Pacific Ocean. The former assassin's bare back hit the bathroom wall, his hand flying to his head with a moan of sudden distress. What _was_ all this? He sunk to the floor, his hand gripping at his hair, another pained moan wrenching from his lips.

Steve had been passing through the hallway, on his way to change into fresh clothing for the day when he heard the loud thump of Bucky hitting the ground. His wrenched moan hung in the air.

"Bucky?" Steve asked urgently, pressing against the door. "Bucky are you alright?" He demanded. There wasn't a door in the house that locked from the inside, save for Steve bedroom. He knew he _could_ get in, but he didn't want to startle Bucky, or do anything that might betray the small measure of trust he had built up. "Bucky!" He called, the end of the word cut off with a sharp reply from behind the door.

"_Go away_!" He barked, head between his knees, trying to make sense of the memories that had just assaulted his tormented mind. "It's fine, just _go away, Steve_!" He snapped, his teeth clenched tightly.

Steve hesitated outside the door. A tentative hope was beginning to mingle with his concern. "Alright." He said softly. "I won't be far...just yell if you need me…" He turned, walking the rest of the way to his room. _He called me Steve…_


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky appeared in the kitchen ten minutes late. He was white as a sheet and looked like a spooked deer. Steve looked up from where he had set two plates of fruit-topped pancakes on the table, a look of concern on his open, honest face.

"Hey there pal," He said, daring to use the more familiar terminology, "Doing alright?" Bucky blinked rapidly, drawing in a shaky breath. He wanted to shut him out, give him a frigid nod and ignore everything else, but he found himself answering despite himself.

"I don't know." He said hesitantly, feeling vulnerable.

"Want to talk about what happen in there?" Steve pressed. Bucky opened his mouth soundlessly, again blinking rapidly, as though trying to clear his thoughts.

"I…" He paused, swallowing hard. "I thought…I thought I remembered something." He rasped, staring at Steve, his gaze searching, desperate for answers.

Steve felt a flutter of hope in his chest, but he forced himself to contain it. He took a steadying breath, nodding slowly. "Want to tell me about it?" He prompted.

"No…" Bucky said slowly, looking like he was considering his options. "No, I need to think about it for a while yet…"

The blond haired man swallowed back his disappointment, nodding slowly. "Alright Buck. You don't need to talk about right now…But let's make a deal okay?" He offered, and Bucky looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "We'll eat breakfast, and then you and I can walk around the property a little bit. If you're ready, we can talk then…"

"What about the perimeter?" Bucky asked, a little bit of suspicion returning to his voice. All he could picture was walking through the woods with Steve, and letting his guard down for a few moments to talk about the painful and confusing memories, only to have a bullet tear through his chest and kill him instantly. He didn't want that. He hated to admit, but he was scared of that.

Steve gentle smile was almost reassurance enough. "Don't worry; as long as I'm with you you're perfectly safe. Just don't ever decide to take a stroll by yourself okay?" The tiny twitch at the corner of the Winter Soldier's mouth set Steve's chest alight with hope. That had very nearly been a smile! "Deal?" He prompted.

Bucky nodded, sinking into his chair across from Steve. "Deal."

Bucky was silent through all of breakfast, and this time, Steve knew better than to press him for information. The more he let Bucky digest what had happened that morning, the more willing he would be to talk about it. None the less, his insides burned with curiosity. He was dying to ask him what he remembered, but he stuffed the urge, knowing that he couldn't pester him about it.

Once they had both eaten their fill and the dishes were clean at set aside, Steve walked over to the door. "Ready?" asked, earning a silent nod from Bucky. The blond haired man bent down, pulling his sneakers on before pausing to stare for a moment at Bucky's bare feet. He hummed thoughtfully. "No shoes, huh?" He mused and Bucky shook his head, speaking for the first time since before breakfast.

"They're too easily used as weapons. I wasn't allowed any." Steve pursed his lips, and then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, you'll need something to walk in and I'm pretty sure I can find you something a little less _lethal_ than sneakers."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"No." Bucky said simply, looking down at the flip-flops hanging from Steve's hand. He was used to combat boots, with pockets and zippers that could conceal weapons and poisons. Sneakers were a step down, flip-flops were unacceptable.

"Do you want to walk or not?" Steve asked, dropping them on the floor by his feet. There was a smirk lingering conspicuously just behind his lips that said he _would _have his way. "The fresh air will be good for you." He prompted. He was met with an ugly glare from the Winter Soldier.

Moments later Steve strolled out of the door, Bucky following behind him, the flip-flops slapping happily against his heels with each step.

The two strolled along in silence for some time, walking slowly, allowing their stomachs to settle. Once they had walked deep into the woods Steve turned to his companion. "So Bucky, about this morning," He prompted gently. Bucky made no initial response and Steve continued hesitantly, "Can you tell me what you remembered."

"It wasn't much." He said coolly, trying desperately to keep his walls up, trying desperately to keep Steve Rodgers from sneaking into his heart. "It may not have been anything at all."

Steve nodded slowly. "Okay…Tell me anyways." He said directly. Bucky was a little taken aback by the abruptness of his statement and faltered a moment.

"Mmm…There was…a house…or an apartment…" He said hesitantly, his brow knitting together in a deep frown. "It was cold…I remember that much…the floor was like ice, and there was only one bed. It was narrow, and hard…the blanket was thin…" He murmured, describing the details as they came to him. He hadn't remembered this much about the house this morning, but little snippets of memory were emerging from the amnesic fog like easily startled deer.

A tiny laugh from Steve caught his attention and he turned to see the man staring at his with that same look of bitter-sweet affection that was so often etched on his face. "Buck…That's my old apartment, the one in Brooklyn, 1942…You _always_ complained about how cold the floor was." He said with a small smile. "You said I'd freeze to death in there someday."

Bucky felt his chest constrict with unwanted emotion. Steve spoke so freely about this, and still he couldn't make himself recall what he was being told. Had he really cared about Steve that much at one point, that he would be worried about him freezing in a poorly heated home? He shook the notion away. Maybe, but it did no good to work himself up over it now.

"Was there anything else?" He asked, deciding it would be safe to pry just a little bit more.

Bucky pinched his lips together, his eyes dropping to the soft carpet of pine-needles beneath his feet. "A uniform…a man…" He murmured and Steve inclined his head slightly.

"Okay…What did he look like?"

The former assassin felt his heart-rate speeding up. Part of him didn't want to describe the man from his memory, because he knew more memories would come, and he had just barely begun to cope with these ones. But none the less, he found his lips parting, and honest words escaping into the cool morning air.

"He was small…thin…but there was something about him that was bigger than I was. He was brave…and stupid…" He murmured, feeling that same tightening in his chest. "He was…important…" _to me. _The last two words tried to push past his lips, but he swallowed them back, dropping his gaze to the ground. "That's it. There was nothing else." Bucky was terrified to look up and see Steve's expression. He kept his eyes rooted firmly to the ground.

If Bucky had had the courage to look up, the expression wore bare on Steve's face would have broken his heart. He stared at the other man, wordless, and stunned. There was pain in his expression, but hope as well. Some part of Bucky, deep in there somewhere, remembered him; maybe not as he was now, but as the scrawny little punk from Brooklyn who would pick a fight with anything with a pulse. All of the words Steve knew seemed inadequate, and for the first time, it was Bucky who had something to say when Steve could say nothing.

"You look different now Steve." He said quietly, pinching his lips together. Steve took a steadying breath, his mind pitched into a turmoil of activity; a frenzy of excitement and tentative hope. His breath escaped him in a soft bark of laughter and he nodded his head.

"Yeah," He laughed breathlessly, "Yeah I do…" A smile tugged at his lips and he shook his head. "Bucky," Steve smiled, feeling like he'd gained a piece of his friend back, "It's good to have you back." Steve allowed himself one moment, just one moment to let his guard down; one moment to celebrate the progress that had been made. He stepped forward, moving to hug Bucky as he had wanted to do so desperately and for so long.

With a rough _smack_ Bucky's forearm hit Steve's windpipe and he launched himself backwards, skidding on the pine needles. Steve gave a half-choked gasp of alarm, his hand flying to his throat to figure out exactly _what _had just happened. In the second it had taken Bucky's killer's instincts to kick in, he knew he had made a deadly mistake. Red points appeared all over his chest, the direction of their beams disappearing deep into the woods.

Steve's word's died in his throat, his voice box shocked by the sudden blow, but he too saw the snipers' marks. A strangled rasp escaped him and he swallowed quickly, raising his hoarse voice again.

"No!" He shouted, his voice projecting around the forest. "Stand down!"

There was a moment of deathly silence as Bucky stood, his hand raised, heart pounding in his chest. One by one the little red dots flickered away from his head and chest, until they had all vanished. A slow breath of relief escaped both men, Bucky slowly lowering his arm. His tongue slid slowly between his lips as he looked hesitantly up at Steve.

"I'm sorry," He murmured, unable to hold eye-contact with Steve for more than a few seconds. Steve, still catching his breath, nodded slowly.

"It's okay, I shouldn't have startled you," He said in return, feeling foolish now. It had been too much good to believe that those few memories would have freed Bucky to trust him again. He had been too badly abused for too long for him to accept physical contact without fear.

An awkward silence stretched between them for several long moments before Bucky ventured a few more words.

"Steve?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah Buck?"

"I like being outside…It's open…can we walk for a bit longer?"

A tired smile tugged at the Captain's lips and he nodded, suppressing the urge to clap him gently on the shoulder. "Sure. I think there's a lake a little further along.


	7. Chapter 7

Their walks lead the two of them deep into the woods, eventually dropping them out by a lake. It was clear, and placid, offering a sense of serenity even to the turmoil in Bucky's mind. Very few words were exchanged after the earlier incident, but neither of them minded. It was enough just to be out in the open air, out of the house, out of his cell. It was quite late into the afternoon by the time the two of them finally made their way back to the house.

As they stepped up to the front door, Steve couldn't help but smirk to himself. They had probably given Fury's men quite a turn, and then to have walked out that far beyond the perimeter? There would have been panicking for sure.

Steve glanced over to Bucky as the former assassin slid his flip-flops off by the door. "Want to help me prep dinner?" He asked, and Bucky glanced up at him, jerking a tiny nod of his head. Steve nodded in return, a small, apologetic smile forming on his lips. "I didn't realize how long we were out, it's almost four; you must be starving." He said as they walked into the kitchen.

Bucky pinched his lips together, following after him. "I've gone longer." He said simply, and Steve instantly felt a stab of guilt and pity. Of course he had. Steve didn't know the details about what Hydra had done to his friend, but those few words betrayed more than enough. Hunger must be an awful feeling for Bucky.

"I'm sorry Buck." He said quietly, dropping his gaze. Bucky didn't respond. '_Its okay'_ seemed hardly adequate anyways. "Listen, Bucky," Steve said suddenly, looking up to meet the dark haired man's steely, impassive gaze. "If you ever need to…" He hesitated a moment, "If you ever think it would help to talk about it…about what happened…I'm here." Bucky was already shaking his head but Steve continued none the less. "I know you're not ready for it now. I understand that. I just wanted you to know that I'm here to help you…I _want _to help you, however I can…" He said, reaching out to place his hand on his shoulder. He moved slowly so he didn't startle him, giving Bucky a chance to respond, and move back if he wanted to. Bucky looked wary, and almost fearful as Steve reached out to him, but he didn't pull back.

Steve felt Bucky flinch as he rested his hand, gently, on his shoulder. Then, after a moment of tension he seemed to relax a bit, his gaze still fixed warily on Steve's hand, watching for any threatening movements.

Steve wanted to soak in the sorely missed contact for as long as he could, but Bucky was still obviously uncomfortable with the touch, as so he pulled back. Steve let his hand fall to his side, and then dropped his gaze with a tired smile. "Let's get started okay?" He asked, walking over to the freezer.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A long time went into making dinner. Not because the pork chops needed to thaw or the onions wouldn't soften up, but because Steve so often got lost recounting stories. He had to choose his stories carefully, as Bucky didn't always handle stories about his own misremembered past very well. So instead he told him about himself, about the time he got in a fight with a guy twice his size because he had refused to stop mocking a passing woman, about the miserably thin old dog he found on his porch, and how different he looked after four months of food and proper care. He told Bucky about the time he got pneumonia when he was five and the doctors were certain he would die. Bucky had a part in so many of these stories and memories. He had backed Steve up when he had lain on the pavement, bloody and bruised from a fight he couldn't have hoped to win. He had help scrub that poor old dog's coat clean, and brought him some of his food in addition to Steve's because they couldn't afford dog food. He had lain beside him in his hard, narrow bed when he was so sick that Bucky warmth was the only thing that kept him alive. He was always there; woven throughout all of Steve's stories, but Bucky wasn't ready to hear it yet.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The pork chops turned out marvelously; seared to perfection and topped with a creamy sauce and softened carrots and onions. Bucky stared down at his plate, his fork in one hand. The carrots and onions had posed no problem to him, but the meat was going to be a little more challenging. He stared enviously at how easy it was for Steve to cut his meat with two functional hands.

Steve glanced up, the question of how he was enjoying dinner forming on his lips when he caught sight of Bucky's uncut meat. The worded died in his throat. It occurred to him just how embarrassed Bucky must feel. It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter, but cutting his own meat with only one arm was all but impossible.

"Here," Steve murmured absently, knowing that the best thing would be to make as little a deal of it as possible. He reached across the table, pulling Bucky's plate over to him and beginning to cut up the pork chop.

Bucky watched, his face flushing slightly. He felt like an invalid. "I miss my arm…" He mumbled, glaring down at his fork.

Steve paused a moment, passing the plate back across to him. "I'm going to talk to Fury about that." He said simply, and Bucky looked up sharply.

"What?" He asked sharply, his steely gaze searching Steve for any trace of falsehood.

Steve glanced up to meet Bucky's searching stare. "I'm going to talk to Fury about getting your arm back. I know it must not be easy managing without it." He said, his tone gentle, and understanding of Bucky's skepticism.

"But-" Bucky started hesitantly, before stopping, going silent for a long moment. He continued slowly. "My arm…it's a weapon."

"It's also a tool." Steve interjected, "Not to mention a part of your body."

"It's a weapon Steve." Bucky said flatly, having none of Steve's arguments. "And why the hell would Fury let you arm me with a weapon? Why would you even _want_ me armed?" He said, his confusion making him feel irritable and angry as it often did.

Steve let his companion's question hang in the air. He knew he had to answer it carefully. Bucky hated to not understand, and when something confused him he tended to lash out. That was the last thing Steve wanted. He drew in an uncertain breath. "Because I don't think you'll hurt me Bucky." He said, knowing that it was a dangerous direction to take, but he had to risk it.

Bucky's face remained impassive, but his brain was scrambling trying to figure out how to handle that statement. Everything that had been beaten, and ripped, and torn into his tortured mind was screaming at him to prove Steve wrong right now; but then there was the part of him that Steve had begun to heal. There was a part, still deeply buried that remembered Steve, that loved him, there was a part of him that would never want to hurt Steve.

"You shouldn't say that." Bucky said quietly, his teeth clenched together as he battled his conflicting emotions.

"I didn't say you _couldn't_ Buck." Steve said softly, "I said I didn't think you _would_."

Bucky froze, his retort dying in his throat. He was quite for some time. "I don't…_want _to hurt you…" He said, his voice just above a whisper, his food forgotten in front of him.

Steve nodded, measuring his next words. "I know," He responded softly. "I know you don't want to Bucky, but you've got to believe me when I tell you that you're the only one in control of that now." He said earnestly. "No one can make any decisions for you now, not me, not Fury…not Hydra…" The words hung in the air, and Steve knew they had the possibility to hurt or heal Bucky.

He could see the pain behind his old friend's eyes; he could see the flash of anguish, the shadows of the memories that haunted him.

"Bucky," He murmured softly, "I _know _you can fight this…"

The former assassin's expression twisted with indecision and he lowered his head. A soft groan slipped past his lips as he tried to reign in the torment in his mind. His fork slipped from his numb fingers, clattering to the floor as he pushed himself up, face still hidden.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, standing slowly, and moving around the side of the table, gently touching his back.

Bucky yanked away, but this time didn't turn back towards Steve to ward him off. His body language was confused, not aggressive "Don't" He warned, his shoulder hunched, and Steve pulled away. After a moment Bucky took a trembling breath, straightening his back. "I've…lost my appetite…I'm going to rest…" He rasped, and walked towards the hall, and disappearing around the corner.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve left Bucky to himself for as long as he thought wise. Around ten that evening, Steve drew in a hesitant breath, and approached Bucky's close door. He didn't know what had been going through his old friends mind when he had left earlier, but he was willing to bet that it hadn't been good. He only hoped that he hadn't done more harm than good.

"Bucky?" He asked softly, knocking politely on the door. He heard nothing from inside the door for several long moments. Finally it opened inward, Bucky standing in the gap with his eyes downcast. Steve's face flicked with guilt as he saw the look on the dark-haired man's face. Whatever he had been working through, it had taken its toll on him. "Can I come in?" He asked, his voice still soft enough not to spook Bucky. Bucky slid his tongue between his teeth, licking his lips slowly and nodding. He stepped away from the door wandering, almost aimlessly, back to his bed and sinking down on the mattress.

Steve followed him over, easing himself down beside him, and daring to reach out to lay a hand on his old friends shoulder. Everything in him wanted to embrace Bucky, to hold him until the pain lost its edge. He wanted to keep him close, love him, and help him heal like Bucky had done from him so many times. But he knew he couldn't, Bucky still wasn't ready.

"I'm sorry…" Steve murmured, looking at him, sympathy in his gaze. "I shouldn't have pushed you…"

Bucky set his jaw, his eyes hardening but he said nothing. Steve got the distinct feeling that Bucky was not ready to talk yet. After a long silence Bucky inhaled slowly, parting his lips to speak. "I'm tired Steve." He said wearily, the struggle of the evening still evident in his voice. "I don't want to talk about me, or my background, or Hydra." There was a note of finality in his voice that Steve knew that the conversation was over.

He stood slowly, trying not to feel too disappointed. "Okay," He said quietly, his lips pulling into a sad smile, "Okay Bucky, I'll see you in the morning." He said.

Bucky turned, shifting to the head of the bed and grabbing the end of the handcuff that were not attached to the bed post. He clumsily shifted the cuff around his wrist, trying to close it with his one good hand.

Steve glanced back, seeing Bucky trying to cuff himself in, seeing the look of resigned fear on his face. He knew he was putting himself back in the path of flashbacks and nightmares but he was chaining himself up none the less. Steve's stomached dropped out at the expression on his face.

"No," Steve said suddenly, walking over and pulling the cuff from around Bucky's wrist and clapping it around the bedpost with the other cuff. "No, I'm not going to do that to you again Buck." Bucky startled slightly, looking up at Steve in disbelief.

"What?" He demanded, his brow drawing into a suspicious frown. "Fury-" He started and Steve cut him off with an almost dismissive wave of his hand.

"My job, as your caretaker, as your _friend_, is to help you get better. These cuffs," He said, grabbing the chain and giving it a yank, "are _not_ helping. If Fury has a problem with that…" He drew in a hesitant breath, "…He knows where to find me."

Bucky blinked in confusion, his gaze darting from the cuffs, to Steve, and then back to the cuffs. "I don't understand…You had orders." He said, staring.

Steve shrugged, saying the only thing that came to mind. "You're more important."

Again the look of confusion phased across his face. What could he say to that? An awkward silence stretch between the two of them, Bucky's mind spinning this information. Steve had already turned to leave, his hand on the knob, when Bucky spoke again.

"I guess I'll have to put of strangling you in your sleep until next week then."

Steve turned abruptly, staring back at Bucky, who met his gaze evenly. Steve gaped for a moment, just staring. Bucky gazed back for a moment, and then scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"God Steve…" He said in disbelief, rolling over and drawing the thick cover over his shoulders.

Steve blinked rapidly. He wasn't usually slow to pick up on jokes but he certainly hadn't expected one to come from the Winter Soldier.

"Oh…" He stammered hesitantly. "Right…G-Goodnight…" Steve stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, still wide-eyed with surprise.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky emerged late the next morning. Breakfast was already prepared and on the table by the time he slumped into the kitchen. His over-long hair was tousled, sticking up at every angle, his dark eyes half-closed, his clothing rumpled. Sleep lines ran up and down his arm and the left side of his face.

"Good Morning," Steve said, feeling almost cheery. He received a grunt in return from Bucky as the former assassin sunk into his chair. "Sleep okay?" He asked, sitting down across from him. Bucky simply hummed, nodding his head. To be honest, it was the best night sleep Bucky had had in his memory; the lack of cuffs had eased his stress, making way for the first night free of nightmares in what seemed like forever. Steve smiled faintly, eating his breakfast quietly as he waited for Bucky to come to more.

"What?" Bucky asked quietly, the corner of his lip tugging up ever so slightly. Steve looked up, surprised.

"Sorry?" He asked, grinning.

"You've been smirking all morning. What is it?" He asked, and Steve ducked his head, his smile widening.

"Nothing," Steve said unconvincingly, and then caved slightly. "I've got a little something showing up this morning."

Bucky sighed, like he couldn't believe he had to ask again "_What?"_ He pressed in an agitated tone. Steve glanced at his watch, and then to the door as he heard the crunching of tires in the driveway. He flashed Bucky a quick smile and stood up, walking to the door just as he heard a swift knocking against the wood.

"Coming!" He called, stepping into the mudroom and opening the door. A tall dark-skinned man stood in the door way. He had short natural hair and a wide easy smile full of very white teeth. "Sam," Steve said affectionately, stepping forward to give his comrade a tight hug. Sam Wilson laughed, clapping Steve on the back and pulling away.

"Hey Cap, How's life in the mountains?" He asked, turning briefly to look over his shoulder at the thick pines that surrounded the yard, falling away as far as the eye could see. Steve pursed his lips slightly, nodding his head.

"Not bad," He said, still beaming. "You want to come in for a minute?" Steve asked, stepping back ad gesturing welcomingly towards the kitchen.

Sam peered around the doorway, catching a brief glimpse of Bucky who, in the presence of someone other than Steve, regressed back to a cold, closed state. He grimaced slightly, shaking his head reluctantly.

"Best not, the last time I was around your friend in there I remember there was a lot of collateral damage. " He said and Steve nodded understandingly. "But," Sam continued, glancing down to a pet carrier sitting on the stoop by his feet. "I _did_ bring your package."

Steve bent, picking up the carrier, feeling its contents reposition inside. "Thank you Sam, really. There aren't a lot of people that Fury will let up here with us; you've done me a huge favor."

Sam waved it off dismissively. "No problem, Just take care of her." Steve nodded earnestly.

"Yeah, of course and listen, if you ever _do_ want to come up and spend some time-" He started, seeing the look of apprehension on his friends face. "Sam, Sam, He's doing so much better, He just needs to be treated gently, he's made so much progress already." He said, eager to plead Bucky's case and Sam nodded, holding up a hand.

"Hey man," He said, flashing him one of those killer smiles. "I'd trust you on anything; you know that, I just don't know if I'm quite up to that right now." Steve nodded.

"Right, sure." He said, shifting the pet carrier carful under one strong arm. "But just know, my home's always open to you, you're welcome any time." Sam smirked.

"I'll keep that in mind." He joked lightly, "Alright Steve, I'll be in touch," Sam said, clasping the other man's hand warmly before turning to go, the gravel crunching under his feet as he went.

"It gets a little lonely up here with only two people," Steve called after him, earning only a laugh and a wave from his comrade before he stepped into his jeep and drove off.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve stepped back into the house, setting the pet carrier down carefully on the floor. He glanced around, excitement stirring in his chest. "Bucky?" He called, grinning to himself. "Bucky come on, where are you?"

The former assassin slipped, ghost-like, into the living room from wherever he'd retreated to, his expression cold, and suspicious. Steve gave him a small, sad smile.

"That was Sam Wilson, you remember him?"

"The Falcon." Bucky replied in a quiet closed tone. Steve nodded.

"He's a good friend of mine, and he won't hurt you." He pressed, seeing the look on Bucky's face. "In fact…I'd like to invite him up sometime…if you're comfortable with that of course." Steve said hurriedly. Bucky had not response to this. He just stood there, looking nervous and skeptical.

"Either way," Steve continued quickly. "I asked Sam to bring this…a little…something to help you." Steve knelt down by the door of the pet carrier, opening it up and pulling out its squirming contents. He held in his arms a dog; not quite a puppy anymore but certainly not full grown yet. She was some sort of Husky mix, with a muddled brown coat and manic blue eyes. One ear stood up, straight and pointed, the other tried, but flopped at the tip.

Bucky eyed the dog uncertainly. He was…surprised, honestly. He hadn't expected to be trusted with the care of something's life, not when he was so conditioned to kill. Steve set the young dog on the ground, where she stumbled slightly and then balanced. Bucky's lips tightened.

"It's got three legs Steve." He said, almost accusingly, looking from the dog's single front leg and then back to Steve. Steve got the feeling that he didn't necessarily appreciate the gesture.

"She needs you." He pointed out quietly, and Bucky set his jaw, not quite sure what to think of being given a dog so much like himself. "I _want_ you to take care of her Bucky. I'll be good for you, trust me." Steve pressed. Bucky gave a resigned sigh, kneeling down in front of the puppy. The husky mutt gave an excited little yap and stumbled clumsily over to him, nosing around at Bucky's knees and then his chest and chin. Bucky just sat there; face stony and impassive as the little dog licked his stubbly chin.

"No." He said shortly, and the dog licked further up his face. "No," He said again, pulling back a bit and the three-legged dog squirmed up further. Like a sniper, the puppy's quick wet tongue snuck between Bucky's lips. The man gave a slight start, yanking back and giving the puppy a sharp roll off of his lap. The young canine gave an abrupt yelp and scrambled gracelessly away from Bucky, darting around the corner. Instantly Bucky's face flashed with guilt at having hurt the little thing. He looked up at Steve, suddenly fearful of being pushed for failing his task. But Steve wasn't even looking at him. He had already headed around the corner, retrieving to three-legged puppy.

"Here we go," He murmured, setting her down again. "Now Bucky, Husky's are very sensitive, they're also huge babies, so you have to be very gentle with her. "

"I hurt her…" Bucky said, still unable to shake the feeling that he should be yelled at or punished for harming the little creature. Steve pursed his lips.

"You rolled her off of your lap and she landed funny Buck. Husky's are over reactors, if something's even a little uncomfortable they're going to wail about it. But I think that will be a good thing, because if you can be gentle with her, you can be gentle with anyone. Now try again okay?" He said with a smile, shooing the now slightly hesitant pup back over to Bucky.

This time, Bucky reached out, slowly, carefully, and touched the young dogs pointed ear. Some dogs look demure, and tragic, others, simply bored; Husky's smiled. The little pup's expression phased into a dopy dog-grin as she tripped clumsily forward again. She did a face-plant in Bucky's lap before squirming onto her back, her manic blue eyes pleading for a belly-rub. Bucky reached down, gently scratching the dog's stomach until her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes grew unfocused and blissful.

"She'll need a name," Steve reminded him gently.

"You haven't given her one?" Bucky murmured, his gaze locked on the dog. Steve shrugged.

"Why would I, She's yours isn't she?" Bucky's hand faltered for a moment as he considered this. In his memory, he never had to care for something; he wondered how different this was going to make things. He thought of how different he felt after being out of a cell; he remembered how different he felt after spending even just a few days in Steve's gentle care.

"Liberty." He said simply, seeing a smile tugging at Steve's lips, of course he would have liked that.

"Liberty." Steve repeated, nodding his head. "Alright then Bucky, Liberty's yours now. I bought dog food, but you'll be responsible for feeding her, making sure she has water, cleaning up after her, and playing with her."

"Playing with her?" Bucky repeated, feeling uncertain. He hadn't _played_…well, in forever; certainly never in his memory. Steve nodded.

"Play with her." He confirmed. "I can't always be with you to walk her out past the yard, but you can play with her outside. It will help her burn off energy, and she'll be better behaved if she's not a live wire. You've got to exercise her Buck." Bucky nodded slowly in responds to this, watching Liberty closely. She had rolled back over now and was licking the carpet with great enthusiasm.


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the day was spent adjusting to having a dog in the house. Bucky, initially took 'owner' to mean 'body guard.' He trailed the young dog, keeping her away from anything potentially harmful, keeping her out of the way in the kitchen so that Steve wouldn't accidentally tread on her paws while preparing lunch or dinner. Eventually, Steve encouraged Bucky to let young Liberty do a little of her own exploring. He explained that she would be alright, and that it wasn't Bucky's job to make sure that she never got tripped up, it was his job to love her, and to see that she was fed and happy.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

That night, Bucky stripped out of the clothing he had been wearing all day and changed into the soft flannel pajama pants Steve had given him. It was too warm to sleep with a shirt. Liberty sat by the closed door, her thick tail sweeping curiously back and forth.

"You sleep here." Bucky said firmly, pointing to a small pile of towels he'd created beside his nightstand. Liberty, obedient to her somewhat grumpy owner, padded over and curled up in the nest of towels. Bucky blinked, surprised by the lack of struggle. "You…follow orders well…" He murmured hesitantly, walking over to the light switch. He clicked the over-head off, feeling his way through the darkness back to his bed. It was good to be curled up, safe, and warm, in a place where he knew he wouldn't be hurt.

The dark-haired man had almost drifted to sleep when he heard the skittering of nails and then a thunk against his bed frame. His eyes flashed open, and he felt a small spike of adrenaline rush through him. Again, he heard the skittering of nails, and this time, Liberty made it all the way up onto the bed. The mattress squished underneath of her as she experimentally padded around, snuffling at the covers before finding a place near the foot of the bed to curl up.

"Lib-" Bucky started, and then stopped. His eyes were adjusted to the darkness by this point and he could see Liberty's soft shape at the foot of the bed. He could see her piercing blue eyes staring, pleading. Bucky gave a resigned sigh and lay back down. After all, Steve hadn't said she _couldn't _sleep on the bed.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Steve was going through his standard morning routine of preparing breakfast when Bucky stormed into the kitchen, his bed sheet clenched in his fist, Liberty on his heels.

"She peed on my bed." Bucky snarled, and Steve suppressed a smile, seeing Liberty looking so cheerful and unrepentant at his heel.

"Well, I hate to say it, but cleaning up after her falls under your jurisdiction Buck. I told you that you may want to keep her on the floor."

Bucky pinched his lips together tightly, wondering how long it was going to take him to clean this.

"Here," Steve said, setting the pancake batter aside and touching his shoulder. "Let me show you something.

Steve led Bucky down the hall and past the bathroom. Near the back of the house, there was a little alcove that held a washing machine and a dryer. "Remember when were little, and your mom would drop you off at my house. My mom would just be starting the laundry, and when you were picked up at eight or nine at night she's be just bringing it in?" asked with a small smile.

"No," Bucky admitted, and Steve's face fell a little, but he didn't dwell on it.

"Well, it happened a lot, these…they take an hour for a load, maximum. It's incredible Bucky, things have really changed." Bucky studied the machines skeptically.

"Will my bedding still smell like piss in an hour?" He asked, and Steve's lips tugged into a smile.

"No, I don't think so. Now come on, I'll show you how it works."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

No more than an hour later Bucky opened the dryer door, pulling his bedding from the inside of the barrel. It was warm and completely clean and dry. Bucky allowed himself a brief moment of sensitivity. He pulled the warm laundry close to him, pressing his face into the soft folds of the fabric. It felt safe. He stood there for a long time, enjoying the safe, warm feeling, before he was startled by Liberty's wet nose on the back of his knee and continued on with his day.


	11. Chapter 11

After refitting the sheet onto his bed and fixing the cover over it, Bucky stepped into the living room, where Steve sat on the couch reading. There was something troubling him. Bucky didn't necessarily _want _to talk about it, but he felt like Steve would have answers for him. Steve glanced up quickly as Bucky entered the room. His eyes dropped back down to finish the last few words on his page before he stuck his bookmarker between the pages and laid the book aside.

"Was I right?" Steve asked with a smile. Bucky had earlier expressed his lack of faith in the washing machine and dryer. Steve had gone to great lengths to assure him that it _definitely_ worked, and now, wanted to hear Bucky own up to it.

Bucky just nodded absently, sinking down beside him. Liberty curled up by his feet, her one ear flopping lower than the other. Steve glanced over uncertainly after Bucky's silence, seeing immediately that something wasn't quite right.

"Buck?" He asked quietly, concern in his voice. Bucky licked his lips hesitantly.

"Is there something wrong with me Steve?" He asked slowly. Steve blinked, taken aback by the question. To be honest, there was a lot that was wrong with Bucky, there was a lot of hurt that had been inflicted on him, and a lot of damage that hadn't het healed.

"What do you mean Bucky?" He asked quietly, wanting more information before he said possibly the wrong thing. His companion was silent for a long moment, pondering how to put into word what was going through his mind.

"I…remember things…just flashes, but it's like it's actually happening for a few seconds…I can…hear what they're saying I can smell things, I can…I can feel what happened…"

"When you were with Hydra?" Steve asked, taking an educated guess as to the nature of Bucky's flashbacks. Bucky's complexion went a few shades paler, taking on an unhealthy, ghostly pallor. His lips tightened into a thin, blood-red line. He nodded sharply.

"I-" He started and his voice cracked slightly. Bucky swallowed, trying again. "It's not like what I remembered…about you…a few days ago…It was like I had gone back in time and I was happening all over again…it was that vivid, I couldn't-" He stopped mid-sentence, swallowing again. Steve reached over, gripping his forearm.

"It's okay…" He said quietly. "It's okay Bucky, those are called 'flashbulb memories,' and I get them too…" Bucky looked up sharply, looking at Steve with an expression of lost confusion.

"What?" He asked in a miserable tone. Steve nodded sympathetically.

"That's the joys of the battlefield…" He said bitterly, and then forced a sad smile, giving his arm another gentle squeeze. "You and I are two grown men suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Its okay, it happens to a lot of soldiers…I know that doesn't make it better…but sometimes just knowing what it is…" Steve trailed off uncertainly. Bucky didn't respond to this, not for a long time. The blond-haired man felt the need to say _something, anything_ to prove to Bucky that he wasn't alone in this, that Steve knew just what he meant.

"You know," Steve continued, "Tony…he's a comrade…a…uh…friend, I guess, of mine, he's always razzing me about the 4th of July. He goes on about how ironic it is for 'freedom boy' to be born on the fourth, and how it's got to be my favorite day of the year, and that 'the fourth is when my powers is at its peak,' ect.." He said in a vaguely sarcastic tone, and then paused, giving the kind of sad smile that made Bucky's heart ache for him. "But he's wrong; it's actually a very hard day for me… I don't let on but...The sound of the fireworks…the smell of all that gunpowder in the air…it triggers a lot of bad stuff in me Buck…I get flashbulb memories more on the fourth than any other day of the year…" He trailed off uncertainly. He'd never quite shaken feeling guilty about that. The previous year Natasha, dangerous, unpredictable, utterly brilliant Natasha had managed to pull together most of the Avengers team, minus Thor of course, for a 4th of July/Steve Rodger's birthday party event. It had been surprisingly thoughtful of her really. There had been plenty of food, plenty of time to talk and catch up, and of course, fireworks. It was all fine at first, all until a particularly loud sound wave sent Steve's anxiety through the roof. It had seemed as though one minute he was fine, and then next he was seeking the quickest escape route possible from the scene. He spent the rest of the evening locked in the bathroom, lying curled up in the tub, shaking, nauseous, and suffering continuous flashbacks.

He knew where Bucky was coming from. Sometimes the flashbulb memories were triggered by something, sometimes, they came out of nowhere.

Bucky soaked in Steve's words, he was still pale, but looking much better than before. He slowly raised his dark, tormented eye to Steve's, meeting his gaze.

"Do they ever stop?" He asked huskily, looking haunted. Steve's eyes saddened.

"I don't think they ever really go away…" He said reluctantly, "Trust me, I've been trying everything to get rid of mine…" Steve saw the color being to drain from Bucky's face again, seeing his fear at the realization that he may be reliving the horrific scenes for the rest of his life.

"They get better though," He assured him quickly. "They don't stop, not all together, but if you give it time…if you focus on remembering, and getting better, they'll be less frequent, maybe even not as bad…okay?"

Bucky nodded wordlessly for a moment, swallowing back his near panic.

"Okay…" He rasped after a long pause. He met Steve's gaze again, his eyes serious, and earnest. "I want to remember then." He said abruptly. "You remember my life more than I do. I want you to help me remember."

Steve blinked in surprise, a little stunned honestly. He had been trying to help Bucky remember this whole time, but up until this moment Bucky had been mostly working against him. That being said, he had made a lot of progress, who knew how much progress could be made if he was willing to work with him!

"A-Alright…" Steve stammered, nodding his head, still almost in disbelief. "Okay then…uhm…Wh-where do you want to start?" He asked and Bucky took a long moment to think.

"Tell me about where I was born…and then tell me how I met you."


	12. Chapter 12

Steve and Bucky spent the rest of the day in the living room. Steve told Bucky about his parents, about his home in Brooklyn. He told him how they had met on the playground when they were still very young and Bucky had asked him why he was so tiny, Steve recalled that in reply, he had told him that he was sick. Bucky had immediately run back to his mother, demanding that they visit later and bring chicken soup. It was a lucky thing for Steve too. That night, when Bucky slept over, Steve became ill and feverish, going from burning, to freezing in the span of minutes. Steve told Bucky how he had slipped out of his own bedding on the floor and squeezed into Steve's narrow cot with him, holding the other boy against him as chills wracked his slender frame. Steve confided in Bucky that his warmth and care had been the only thing that had kept him alive that night. He told Bucky of the adventures they'd had together as boys, of all the trouble Bucky had tried to keep Steve out of. He told Bucky, haltingly, about how he felt when Bucky was drafted, how he had wanted to help, how he missed him, and feared for him. Bucky watched him very closely through this, watching the emotions on his face for any sign that he wasn't 100% genuine in what he was saying. Steve pressed on with the details of how _he _had come to join the army, and how they had been reconnected after Steve had helped Bucky's regiment escape Hydra. Bucky's face grew very dark as he explained the details to him. He realized now just how far back Hydra's influence on him reached. Steve told Bucky about how they had fought together, how glad he was to have him by his side…He told Bucky how he had lost him…

Steve fell silent for a long time after that. He sat with his hands in his lap, his gaze lowered. Bucky had moved to the floor by this point, absently stroking Liberty, who lay in his lap chewing on a rope knot.

"When I lost you…" Steve started reluctantly, "When I thought you'd died…I-I didn't know what to do…you had _always_ been there Buck, and now you were…you were just gone…I didn't know that I could make it without you because I'd never _had _to before…" Steve took a steadying breath. "When you came back, I thought that the world was finally right again, because it wasn't without you…and then you didn't know me…and it was worse than before…"

He couldn't bring himself to say anything else. Bucky knew the story from there, and even though there were a thousand things Steve wanted to tell him, he knew he couldn't overload him.

Bucky couldn't begin to think of anything to say either. He didn't remember all of what Steve had told him, in fact he didn't remember most of it, but he remembered just enough tiny fragments to make him believe it.

"Does that…Help?" Steve ventured after a few long minutes of silence, still watching Bucky's face carefully. Bucky frowned slightly, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

"Honestly? I don't remember _anything_ of what you just told me…" He faltered slightly, "Well...I mean...Almost anything…" Steve looked up, his curiosity piqued. Bucky saw the look on his face, and glanced down his face going the slightest tinge pink. "I…I remember…saying goodbye to you…at the science exhibition…"

Steve blinked in surprise, tempted to say 'really?' but he held it back. He hadn't actually mentioned _where _they had said goodbye, but Bucky _knew_! He _must _have remembered it! As he digested this information, a small smile touched his lips.

"That's really good Bucky," He said gently, knowing that Bucky needed to be coached very carefully through this process. Steve knew he couldn't expect too much of him, or else Bucky would begin to feel like he would be punished if he didn't remember enough. He needed to be praised when he did remember something new, and patiently encouraged when he couldn't. Remembering had to be handled positively no matter what. Steve decided it was worth it to gently prompt a little more.

"You remember the man at the exhibition with the flying car that couldn't actually fly?" Steve asked, a small smile tugging at his lips, "I went on to work with him in the army, and he helped design a lot of the tech that we used. He was a good man, his name was Howard Stark, he's T-" Steve stopped mid-sentence. Bucky's face had blanched white, and his looked suddenly ill. "Bucky?" Steve asked, gently touching his shoulder. Bucky blinked rapidly, swallowing back the wave of nausea that had suddenly struck him.

"He was your comrade?" Bucky asked huskily. "A…a friend?" Steve suddenly got the feeling that he was not going to like where this was going, but he nodded anyways.

"Yeah…Howard and I worked together…a lot actually, and yeah, he was my friend…" Bucky drew in a shaky breath, sliding Liberty off of his lap and standing up, retreating to the doorway. "Bucky!" Steve called, standing up and going after him. His hand closed gently around Bucky's wrist. The dark-haired man stopped in his tracks. His hand tightened into a fist and Steve could feel his muscles bunch all the way up to his shoulder. "It's okay Bucky," He said softly, "You can tell me…"

Again Bucky steadied himself, drawing in a deep breath and swallowing hard. Steve was about to hate him, he was certain of it."

"Howard Stark…" Bucky started slowly, speaking through clenched teeth. "I killed him…"


	13. Chapter 13

Everything was wrong. Bucky had only just begun remembering things only to realize that he had been the one to pull the metaphorical trigger on one of Steve's best friends. He would hate him now, he was sure of it. Bucky didn't know exactly what Steve would or wouldn't do but it wouldn't be good. He would be alone…again. He couldn't bring himself to look back, even when he felt Steve's fingers slowly uncurl and slip away from his wrist.

The soft sigh that Bucky heard behind him was a thousand times words that any cry of outrage. He sound so…disappointed…It broke Bucky's heart.

"I know…" Steve whispered quietly, and Bucky turned abruptly. When he saw it, even though he had been preparing himself, the expression on Steve's face still hurt. He was staring at the ground, hands limp by his sides. His eyes looked so _old_. The blond haired man swallowed hard before drawing in a deep, hesitant breath. "I was told that the car wreck that killed Howard and Maria Stark was arranged by Hydra…I guess I didn't really know…I had _hoped_…I had hoped that it wasn't you…" He finished. He didn't look angry, just sad, and disappointed.

"Steve," Bucky pleaded in a low tone, turning fully now and stepping towards him. "Steve I'm sorry. I didn't…I couldn't-I-" Steve reached up and gripped Bucky's shoulder, the man startling slightly at the contact.

"Bucky." He said abruptly, meeting his gaze. "_I know_." He emphasized again. Steve sighed, letting his hand slid from Bucky's shoulder. "I…I think I'm going to turn in early tonight Buck…" He said, for once feeling like he was the one who needed space, who needed to process and absorbed the painful information. He felt like a heel; walking away, leaving Bucky standing there like that, but he couldn't handle talking about it right now. He wasn't angry and Bucky. God knows he didn't hate him, but he knew it would take him a few hours to shake the lump in the pit of his stomach caused by knowing that Bucky, however brainwashed, had killed Howard and his wife.

Bucky watched Steve walk slowly down the hallway, a feeling of nausea churning in his stomach. He felt like he had just destroyed every ounce of faith Steve had in him; and when Steve's faith was all Bucky had, it left him feeling like an empty shell. "Steve," He called as Steve reached his bedroom door at the end of the hall. He turned, looking back at him.

Steve did the most painful thing when he was sad; he smiled. He looked back at Bucky with a tiny smile on his lips, his eyes holding the kind of sadness that you could drown in. Bucky didn't remember exactly when he'd decided to call out to him, but he was looking at him now, waiting, with that heartbreaking smile playing at the edges of his lips. "I'm sorry…" Bucky managed, knowing it wasn't good enough.

Steve exhaled slowly and nodded his head. "I know Buck…I don't blame you…I'm just…tired…" He said quietly, knowing it was a transparent excuse. Bucky did the only thing he could. He nodded, rooted to the spot, feeling like a monster for doing this to the only person in the world who had been willing to care for him.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It took Steve a long time to get to sleep. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that his best friend had killed the Starks. He told himself that Bucky couldn't be held responsible, that he had absolutely no control over his actions, but it still hurt. It hurt, and Steve knew that it wasn't the kind of hurt that went away very quickly. Steve wasn't determined to forget about it and brush it under the rug; he was determined to forgive Bucky.

A sudden crash woke Steve abruptly out of a troubled sleep. He sat bolt upright in bed, his hand flying to the gun he had been ordered to keep at his bedside at all times. For a second, there was silence, and then a string of hissed curses. _Bucky. _Steve slipped out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a soft thump. His gaze darted quickly to the clock on his nightstand, and a frown tugged at Steve's brow. "What?..." He rasped, too tired to comprehend why in the _world _Bucky would be awake at three in the morning. Leaving the gun on the nightstand, Steve ghosted out of his room, the carpet in the hallway muffling his footsteps. The blond haired man peered cautiously around the door from and into the kitchen, not quite sure when he would see.

For one thing, there was flour _everywhere._ How that much flour could have gotten all over the kitchen Steve could only guess. An upended metal bowl lay in the middle of the floor, also coincidentally in the exact middle of the flour explosion. Apparent that he been the source of both the noise, and the mess. Bucky was crouched on the floor, two fingers in his mouth, hissing curses around them. He pulled them briefly out of his mouth. There was blood on his fingers. "God fucking dammit!" Bucky snarled, stuffing his fingers back in his mouth and sucking on them hard, trying to relieve the sting.

"Bucky?" Steve asked wearily, and Bucky jumped, his face clouding with guilt as he yanked his hand out of his mouth.

"Steve!" He blurted uncertainly, twisting his hand behind his back. "I…didn't mean to wake you up…" Steve scrubbed briefly at his eyes, blinking in the dim light of the kitchen.

"No, No it's fine," He whispered, walking over. He reached behind Bucky, gently taking his wrist and pulling his hand where he could see it. He frowned slightly at the nasty laceration across the pads of his fist two fingers. "What happened?" He asked, grabbing a clean rag from the drawer beside him and putting pressure on the cuts." Bucky looked away, flushing with embarrassment.

"Knife slipped." He mumbled. Steve raised an eyebrow, nodding.

"Yep. That what happens when you bake with the lights dimmed." He murmured, stepping away to pull the first aid kit out from the cupboard over the fridge. On his way by, he slid the light switch all the way up, flooding the kitchen with light.

"I didn't want the light to wake you…" Bucky said, his voice still barely about a mutter. Steve turned back to him, his smile still touched with sleep.

"Well, I'm awake now," He said, spreading his hands. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing at this hour of the morning."

Bucky was almost too embarrassed to answer, even so, it took him until after Steve had bandaged his lacerated fingers to speak.

"I…" Bucky hesitated. "I was making…" He cringed. "…Sticky buns…" Steve looked up, letting Bucky's hand slip from his own. There was a look of amused surprise on his face.

"Sticky buns?" He repeated, and Bucky went pink.

"They were supposed to be for breakfast…they…apparently take longer to rise that I thought but…I…wanted to make them…for you…"

Steve sucked his head, breathing a small sigh. "Buck. You didn't need to do that." He said gently, and a look of irritation phased across Bucky's face.

"Of course I did." He snapped, turning away and dropping the offending knife in the sink. He offered no other explanation than this because Steve _knew_. He knew, whether he would talk about it or not, just how much he had done for Bucky.

A smile tugged at the other man's lips, and he nodded. "Okay, okay Bucky…" He paused for a second, before looking back up at him. "Do you want my help?"

Bucky looked away, still feeling a knot of frustration. He had wanted Steve to wake up nice and slow the next morning to the smell of freshly baked sticky buns. He had wanted him not to worry about getting up to make them both breakfast as he always did. He had wanted…he had _hoped_ that the feeble peace offering would be enough to keep Steve from looking at him with that agonizing, disappointed look on his face. But now, instead, Steve was here, in the middle of the disaster of a kitchen, bandaging his cuts, and offering to help him finish the job even though it was three in the morning. _'Just go back to bed,'_ Bucky's mind snapped, but his mouth betrayed his desire to be near him.

"Sure…" He murmured, trying not to sound too affected either way. And so Steve and Bucky ended up in the kitchen, cleaning and baking until the sun streamed through the window and the smell of freshly baked sticky buns wafted on the morning air.


	14. Chapter 14

Ten in the morning snuck up on the two of them before either of them had realized it. After the initial disturbance earlier, it had been a good morning. The sticky buns had been baked, iced, and devoured, Liberty had been let outside for a while, and Bucky and Steve had sat at the kitchen table and talked for hours.

Steve took a sip of his milk, swallowing before continuing with the story he had been telling. "Even after all that," He laughed, "Stark still insisted on stopping at a sandwich joint, uh, _shwarma_, or something. God," He sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. "I've got to tell you Buck, I was exhausted…" One of those rare, tiny smiles ghosted across Bucky's face.

"Sorry I missed the action." He said, absently swiping a stray bit of soft, creamy icing off the edge of his plate. Steve grinned lightly.

"It wasn't all that great really. You didn't miss much."

"Just 70 years." Bucky retorted dryly. He was rewarded with a snort of laughter from Steve, who stood to his feet.

"How are you handling that by the way?" He asked, beginning to pick up their breakfast plates. "Are you catching up with things alright?" Bucky's look immediately shifted to a dead-pan glare.

"Steve!" He scoffed in disbelief. "Since I've been awake I've been locked up with Hydra, out on a few assassination mission, locked up with Fury and now locked up here! No! I'm not 'caught up.'" Steve looked at little ashamed.

"I'm sorry Buck, I didn't think a-"

"Just don't say stupid stuff okay Steve?" Bucky said, cutting off his apology. Steve shifted restlessly for a second before seizing on an idea.

"We should go some places together. I _know _that there's plenty I can show you, it'll be really good for you."

"Steve. Remember what I said about the stupid stuff?" Bucky asked, "You're doing it again. I'm not allowed to leave here, remember?"

"I've been working on that," Steve protested, trying to justify himself. "I just need a little more time to talk Fury around and we…" He paused mid sentence as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. "Uh, hang on," He murmured to Bucky, holding the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He said, stepping out of the kitchen.

While Steve was taking his call, Bucky cleaned up the rest of the leftovers from breakfast, wiped the counters down and called Liberty inside. By the time Steve was done, Bucky was sitting on the living room floor, rubbing Liberty's stomach and murmuring softly to the husky pup. He looked up as Steve stepped back in, sitting up a little straighter. Something was off.

"Steve?" Bucky asked hesitantly, leaving the question unspoken. Steve buffered for a second, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That was Fury…he want me to come in…hard to tell with him, but…I don't think he was really happy." Bucky swore under his breath, standing up abruptly and dumping Liberty off his lap. The young dog gave a startled yap, and fell flat on her face.

"Dammit Steve!" Bucky snapped, flushed with anger. "What did I tell you! You should have chained me up, I _told _you! I _told _you you had to but you had to go and be a hero about it didn't you! Dammit!" He ran his fingers through his over long hair, turning away from Steve in frustration.

"Bucky," Steve said, trying to cool Bucky's temper. The other man wheeled around abruptly, teeth clenched.

"No, no just shut up Steve!" he said sharply. Obediently, Steve went silent, but looking at Bucky now, he could see the guilt in his face.

"This isn't your fault" Steve assured him quietly once Bucky looked like he might, possibly, but a little more calm.

"Of course it is!" Bucky snapped back. "You break _all_ the rules Steve! For _me!_ That makes it my fault. Whatever happened to no walking out past the perimeter? What happened to not letting your _charge_ handled knifes, or have shoes! What the _hell_ happened to 'the prisoner has to be cuffed it at night'?" Bucky spat, his face the picture of guilt and pain.

Steve couldn't stand it, not for one second more. He stepped forward and pulled Bucky into a tight hug. The other man froze, his words dying in his throat as he immediately stuffed his panic reaction. He stood there, stiff, and confused for several long moment before the iron-clad wall he had built around himself crumbled to dust. He leaned into the touch, his one arm wrapping tightly around Steve's back, fingers gripping into the material of his shirt. Steve shifted to accommodate the new position, his chin tucked into the crook of Bucky's neck, his arms drawing him closer.

"It's okay…" He murmured into Bucky's long dark hair. "It's okay, I'm gonna take care of you…I'm with you Buck…I'm right here…" Bucky clenched his teeth helplessly, clutching the back of Steve's shirt, his face pressed into his chest. He felt vulnerable. But for the first time, that didn't scare him.

Bucky was the one to finally break the embrace, and Steve wasn't surprised, there was only so much Bucky could handle at once. He stood there, head down, looking uncertain, and almost a little embarrassed. Steve reached out, gently gripping his forearm.

"I'm going to go see Fury, Buck, I'm going to tell him how well you've been doing, all the progress you've made…and don't worry, I'm sure I won't get into too much trouble." He assured him. Bucky looked up for a moment, seeing the smile on Steve's lips before dropping his eye away again.

"You'd better not…" He muttered.

"You gonna be okay here while I'm gone?" Steve asked.

"I'll stay out of trouble." Bucky said softly and Steve gave him a warm smile. He clapped Bucky's shoulder affectionately.

"Good, I'll be back. Dinner time for sure okay?" Bucky nodded his agreement, walking with Steve to the door and watching him get in his car, and drive away.


	15. Chapter 15

For the first hour or so Bucky felt like he could die from the silence and loneliness that Steve had left in his wake. Then, as one hour gave way to two, and then three, the acute loneliness faded, replaced instead by a sense of calm. Bucky hadn't been truly alone in so long that he had forgotten how refreshing it could be. With all the time simply to himself, Bucky washed the dishes, and thoroughly cleaned the house. He even daring to peek into, and then clean Steve's room, which he had always assumed was off limits, even though Steve had said nothing to that nature. He made himself lunch, and took a long hot shower before prepping dinner for when Steve come back to him.

And then there was Liberty. While Bucky had been, by now, quite enjoying his laid back day, Liberty was going stir-crazy. She bounded clumsily around the living room, tore her rope-knot to shreds, and then set to work on Bucky's flip-flops. That was the last straw. Bucky knew she needed some time outside to play.

Needless to say, Liberty was ecstatic when her owner joined her outside. She ran around the yard with that odd, three-legged gate of hers, her eyes manic, tongue lolling. Bucky allowed himself a smile, catching her in one strong arm as she tore past him. He flipped her over on her back, rubbing the wriggling puppy's stomach until she squirmed free and went back to her laps. Bucky pushing himself back to his feet, absently brushing at the grass stains on his knee. Eventually, Liberty found one of the tennis balls that Steve had bought for her to play with. The young dog drug it out from under one of the bushes planted against the house and tripped over to where Bucky now stood, her expression expectant. A smirk tugged at Bucky's lips and he reached down, prying the slimy ball from his dog's mouth and throwing the pitch that would begin a game of fetch lasting well over an hour.

"Last throw," Bucky murmured to himself, convinced that he would no longer be manipulated by Liberty's big pleading eyes. He hauled back and chucked the ball, Liberty scrambling after it. The ball flew slightly off course, rebounding off the wall of the house and rolling under a bush at the edge of the yard, when Liberty promptly lost track of it. It would have been fine to leave well enough alone, but Liberty seemed so distressed at the loss of her toy that Bucky, heaving a sigh, got on his hands and knees himself to dig the ball out from the brush. After a moment, he sat back up, holding the slimy, dirty ball in his hand.

Bucky heard a barely audible hiss, and suddenly a something smacked into him. Pain flared across his entire chest, his brain pitching into a panic. There was blood. He could feel it, but it hadn't yet soaked through to show where he had been shot. _'I've been shot…'_ He processed, his mind reeling. He had only _just _approached the edge of the yard! The perimeter was supposed to be farther back! All off this raced through his brain before he ever hit the soft grass. Pain like electric coarse though his body as the shock of the impact spread across his chest and up his neck. A strangled cry forced past his lips and he curled momentarily to the side. His hand moved unconsciously to the area just bellow his right shoulder. He could feel the blood now. It was seeping through his shirt. His vision was dimming as shock began to set in. _'I can't just lay here!'_

All of his conditioning came flooding back and, spurred by desperation, he surged to his feet. The pain was unbearable, sending shafts of white hot agony through his body. Bucky was vaguely away of a commotion deeper in the woods; the men at the perimeter reacting to the situation. _'They're going to gun me down.'_ Bucky realized, breaking into a panic fueled sprint. He crashed into the door of the house, a cry escaping his lips as the impact jarred his injury. He wasn't thinking anymore, he was just moving, just trying to find a safe place to hide. Bucky's vision was going fast, his body numbing to the pain as he fell into Steve's bedroom door.

The last thing he remembered seeing was the gun laying on Steve's end-table, and the sight of his own bloody fingers curling around it.


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky heard the pounding of footsteps approaching him even though the haze of darkness, shock, and pain. It took everything in him just to pry his eyes open and even then he all he could see was the vague, blurry shape of someone coming towards him. He tried to snarl a warning as the figure came to its knees in front of him, but all that he could force past his lips was a dull moan. His fingers twitch around the gun. His muscles quivered with effort, but he lifted the gun, pressing it to the underside of the hazy intruder's jaw line.

"Bucky," Steve said in a cracked voice. He reached up, quickly, and carefully disarming his injured friend. The gun slipped heavily from Bucky's fingers. He had had barely enough strength to hold it. "God Bucky, what happened, there are agents everywhere!" His gaze fell to the blood spreading across his old friend's chest and Steve's face went white. "What-" He started, and then immediately stopped, changing tack. "I'm calling a paramedic. Lie still."

Bucky's pain-numbed mind tried to wrap itself around what was happening. "S…Steve?" He rasped, seeing Steve's fuzzy outline as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"It's okay Bucky, I've got you, just stay still. You'll be alright." He said his voice tight with anxiousness and fear for his friend. Bucky felt himself slipping again as Steve spoke urgently into his phone. His eye's felt so…heavy…he wanted to sleep… Bucky allowed his eyes to close again, succumbing to the throbbing numbness that encased his entire body.

Steve moved back over to him as soon as he closed the phone. Fear pierced into him like a dagger as he saw Bucky's eyelids lowering again, his breathing becoming shallower. "Bucky!" He said franticly, grabbing his forearm in a white knuckled grip. "No! No Bucky come on! Stay awake, don't you- Don't you dare. Bucky!" The other man's head tipped to his chest and Steve reached out, grabbing Bucky's chin forcefully. "Bucky!" He shouted, and his eyelids fluttered weakly. "Come on…" Steve pleaded. "Just a little longer Buck….please…"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

He was strapped down. Why, he didn't know. All his could see was a flickering fluorescent strip bulb on a indistinct white ceiling. His body felt like he had been set fire to, and then plunged into glacier water. Everything hurt. He was burning, and freezing, but not alone. He could hear someone else moving not far away.

Bucky blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, which still seemed blurry on the edges. His hand closed into a fist, the muscles tightening all up his arm. Pain flooded his body. An unwanted cry escaped him.

"Bucky?"

The sound of that voice, for an instant, soothed everything away.

"Steve!" He called, his voice sounding so…young…so scared…he didn't hardly sound like himself. And then he could see him. Steve moved to his side, gripping his forearm anxiously.

"Hey, its okay, I'm right here…" He murmured, knowing Bucky was on a lot of medication right now. He was vulnerable, and confused he was sure.

"Why…" He croaked his voice breaking. "Why am I tied?" Bucky asked miserably, feeling completely shattered. He wanted to cry, and urge that hadn't been this strong in his incomplete memory. Had he know a little more about the medication that was swaying him and inhibiting his ability to cope with his emotion he would have been less frightened. As of now though, he felt like pieces had been tore out of him, like he had been robbed of the skills he needed to cope with his situation.

"Don't worry, you're in an ambulance, the straps were to keep you from moving while the paramedics took care of you."

"I want them gone…" Bucky whispered, sounding almost childish. Steve gently brushed his friends over-long hair away from him face.

"Okay…" he agreed softly, a reassuring smile touching his lips. Steve looked up to the medic who stood quietly in the corner of the ambulance. "Would you please undo these?" He asked, knowing that if he did it wrong he could end up hurting Bucky even more. The paramedic, one of the younger men on Fury's extensive staff, looked uncertain. This _was_ the winter soldier after all; he was supposed to be quite dangerous and unpredictable.

"No, I don't think that's a wise idea." He said, his gaze flickering uncertainly down to the clipboard in his hands. He didn't want to be trapped in a small enclosed box full of needles and sharp objects if the Winter Soldier decided to go on a rampage.

Steve blinked, taking this in before straightening to his full height. His face was calm, and impassive, but just the increase in height was enough to make the medic question his decision. Steve stepped over in the cramped ambulance, standing directly in front of the man.

"My friend is scared." Steve said, his voice deathly serious. "He's injured and he's drugged. I'd you're your help to unstrap him please." The medic swallowed uncertainly, his gaze flickering from Steve, to Bucky, and then back to Steve. He wouldn't say another word, but it was also clear that he wouldn't be backing down. A long span of silence stretched between them before the medic became decidedly uncomfortable and stepped around Steve, moving over to Bucky's side. A tiny smile ghosted across Steve's face and he followed him over.

"Hey Buck," Steve said gently, making sure his friend knew he was there with him. "Just lie still okay? We're going to get rid of these straps, but you still shouldn't move understand?" He coaxed gently. Bucky licked his lips hesitantly.

"Okay…" He whispered. Steve had said that he was drugged. That made sense. He understood now why he didn't feel like he could filter or control his own emotions.

Mercifully, the straps that held him to the gurney loosened and then pulled free. Bucky swallowed hard. It hurt to breath.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, looking to Steve for answers, all but ignoring the twitchy medic. Steve drew in an uncertain breath.

"One of Fury's men…he…someone in his family got hurt Buck; while you were with Hydra." He met Bucky's gaze uncertainly, wanting to make sure he understood. Bucky nodded slowly, ignoring the throbbing pain it sent through him. Steve buffered a moment before continuing. "Really….He was _looking _for a reason to take a shot at you. My guess would be he was the first one to aim for you the day that you and I walked out past the perimeter too."

Bucky took this information in silence before hesitantly replying. "His family member…who was it?...Are they dead?"

Steve shook his head grimly. "His oldest sister…she wasn't a target of yours, just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but there was an explosion nearby where she was. She was thrown back, landed wrong…she's paralyzed now…" Guilt phased across Bucky's face but he swallowed it back. He knew what Steve would say. It's not your fault. You couldn't have helped it. It didn't matter though. It was just another someone to add to the list of the people who's lives he'd destroyed.

"Fury's livid." Steve continued. "Most of the men around the perimeter where outrages as well…But I guess the edge of the yard was close enough to the border for him to justify trying to kill you." Bucky had still said nothing, his mind still concentrated on the woman he had paralyzed, and the brother who had been driven to the point of murder.

"Buck?" Steve asked quietly, trying to shake him back to reality. "You're going to be okay, you know that right?"

Bucky reluctantly tore his eyes from the ceiling, looking back to meet Steve's concerned blue eyes. "I know…" He said. His voice was flat, now devoid of all emotion.

"Perks of being a genetically enhanced super soldier I guess." This earned the tiniest hint of a smile from Bucky. "You'll heal up okay, it'll just take a while…" He assured him. "But, in case you needed something else to get you back on your feet, and your arm will have to be in a sling for a while…I brought you something."

Bucky painfully turned his head, his brows drawing together in a confused frown. Steve lifted a box out from under the gurney, opening it up. The blond haired man reached in, and drew out the sleek automail arm, looking exactly as it had the day it had been taken from him. Bucky's eyes widened and he surged forward, trying to sit up.

"Whoa! Hey!" Steve protested, pushing Bucky's weakened body back down with ease. "You can't move right now Buck! You know that!" Bucky looked like he wanted to argue, still tense under Steve's palm. "Don't worry," Steve insisted. "I'll help you reattach it. It'll be good as new."


	17. Chapter 17

Three days later.

Bucky sat on the couch, his right arm snuggly against his chest in a soft sling. Liberty lay stretched out across his lap, tongue lolling happily as he rubbed her stomach with his now fully operational bionic hand. It had taken the young dog at least a day to adjust to her owner have a confusing and, for a little pup, frightening metal appendage; but she was quite collected now. Steve emerged from the hallway, taking a seat next to Bucky, gently nudging his knee.

"I finally got all the bloodstains out of my carpet." He commented. They had been finding flecks of blood everywhere over the past few days. Bucky smirked grimly.

"Does that take care of it then?" He asked and Steve nodded, huffing a sigh of relief.

"I think it does, thank god…I can finally walk through my house without smelling stain remover."

"So…" Bucky ventured after a moment. "You…never really told me how your meeting with Fury went." He prompted, and Steve glanced over at him smiling faintly.

"Well, I'll be honest with you, at first, he was pissed. You know, bottom line rules and stuff like that…But…I told him about you…about everything you'd done and all the progress you'd made. He didn't really…soften I guess, but it got to the point where I think he believed me. Convincing him about the arm is what really took a long time. Also…" He said uncertainly, glancing briefly up at Bucky. "I've made an agreement with him. It's tentative, it has it's restrictions, and it's conditions…I won't be perfect-"

"Steve," Bucky said, smirking faintly at him. "Just spit it out already." Steve licked his lips, locking gazes with his old friend.

"You're free."

Bucky blinked rapidly, staring at Steve. "What?" He asked incredulously.

"You're free." Steve repeated. "You and I have to live together still, I'm kind of…your probation officer to make sure you keep behaving yourself…but you're free…Not more handcuffs, not more perimeter. You and I can go places, see things. If you want…we can even find somewhere else to live. A town, a nice city…New York if you like…" Bucky swallowed hard, licking his lips.

"But you'll stay with me," He pressed urgently. "You're not going to disappear on me because I can't do this on my own…I'm…better…when I'm with you…" Steve reached out, resting his hand reassuringly between his shoulder blades.

"Don't worry Buck. I'm with you, till the end of the line."

Bucky allowed himself a real smile; not a twitch of the lips, not a dry sarcastic smirk, a real smile. "Then if you don't mind…our little hideaway here has kind of grown on me…."

"Well then," Steve said, looking around the house, with its open windows and soft carpets. He breathed in the smell of the pine coming through from the tree line, and heard Liberty's quiet, contented panting. "Welcome home…"


End file.
